“Legendary Beauty” and “Rugby and Eton”–A Foursome of Sonnets

“Legendary Beauty” and “Rugby and Eton”–A Foursome of Sonnets

Modern poetry  modern verse contemporary poetry  contemporary verse  modern poem  contemporary poem

               Legendary Beauty

Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.

Rupert Brooke

“the handsomest young man in England” ~ W. B. Yeats on the appearance of Rupert Brooke

What makes up legendary beauty in

A man, enough to make the “normal” guy

Be smacked by it and make him want to sin

With it?  When Yeats remarked on how the eye

Saw gorgeousness, he said that Brooke was at

The top of English masculinity

In fetchingness.  Young Yeats was no slouch hat

Himself; no, in the same vicinity

Of sexiness as Rupert.  Sedgwick called

   Ellery Sedgwick

Out to his wife, “I have seen Shelley plain!”

“Man’s beauty is much more rare”:  so enthralled

The editor was he could not refrain

From shouting up the stairs to tell his spouse

Inside their Rupertless marital house.

            Rugby and Eton

Why Shelley?  Percy wasn’t stunning as

That poet Sedgwick had been dazzled by.

Bysshe simply didn’t have the razzmatazz

Of killing gorgeousness that struck the eye

Of Sedgwick.  Shelley had a sweetheart mouth

And wavy hair but nothing like the face

Of Brooke.  Though delicate and not uncouth,

The head of Shelley wasn’t like the ace

In royal flushes.  Edward Williams might

    Edward Elleker Williams

Have disagreed.  These two were meant to love

Each other after they had died.  The rite

To burn their bodies lifted them above

Mere death.  Both men were married but they aimed

To be entombed as one, always inflamed.

The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.”~ Rupert Brooke

So is it any wonder that young James,

The brother of bent Lytton Strachey, should

Be stunned by Rupert and be caught in flames

Of unrequited lust for his boyhood

Fixation once his Brooke had blossomed like

A mythic Grecian flower with armpit hair,

So sexy that he could have been a spike

That Dracula drove  through him like despair?

This stake was almost six feet tall, myth sweeps

Of  hair of goldy, auburn, brown, mixed through,

Had deep-set eyes designed to torture, heaps

Of manliness to manage James’ heart’s coup,

Not mentioning that shapely manly mouth

And other strengths as James’ eyes travelled south.

There’s little comfort in the wise.”~ Rupert Brooke

It seems that everyone who met Brooke felt

Compelled to cite his hunkiness once he

Had left his school.  The women’s guts would melt

And men would suffer Cupid’s harsh decree,

But Brooke was captured hard inside his cage,

Lust’s kinkiness for Lascelles.  James would write

To all about his torture, in a rage

Of whinge, as pitiful as it was trite,

But Lytton didn’t pity him as much

As sneer at his distraction.  Lytton thought

That he at least would not desire to touch

The poet, never wanting to be caught

Up in the frenzy—only to be “snubbed.”

Brooke wriggled, picky, about whom he rubbed.

Phillip Whidden